Sweeter Than Heaven, Hotter Than Hell
by Keitorin Asthore
Summary: AU. Kurt and Blaine met as children, when Kurt had wings and Blaine didn't. But when the laws change, their lives change too. What can they do when their very lives are considered illegal? Written for the Klaine reverse bang.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

Blaine was eight when he met a seraph for the first time.

He'd seen them before, of course, walking down the street with their beautiful wings, all different shapes and sizes and colors, but he'd never actually spoken to one before. There weren't any at his school and his parents weren't friends with any, and there weren't any in his neighborhood, but he'd always wanted to actually meet one.

His mother made him go to the Rylant twins' birthday party. He didn't actually like the Rylant twins, but his mother wanted Mrs. Rylant to like her, so off he went to the party with matching wrapped presents under his arm. The party itself was fine- there was cake and a slip 'n' slide and the goody bags had tootsie roll pops in them- but he didn't like the twins or their friends very much. He edged along the fence, nibbling on the piece of chocolate cake in his hand as he watched the other kids scream and push and tease.

One of the boards in the fence slipped as he leaned against it and he paused to study it. It swung back to reveal a bramble of honeysuckle bushes, sweet and fragrant as the branches bobbed in the soft afternoon breeze. He smiled to himself as he poked his head through the gap in the fence. It was just like The Secret Garden. He stuffed the last bit of cake in his mouth and wiped his hands on his crisply pressed shorts before he slid through the opening in the fence.

The honeysuckle enveloped him in a sweet smelling cloud, dusting him lightly with pollen. He brushed it off as he waded through the flowers, and suddenly he stumbled into a clearing.

The most beautiful boy he'd ever seen sat on the soft grass, the sun making a reflective halo on his soft chestnut brown hair. He played quietly with a small porcelain tea set, spread out in a circle with a large teddy bear, a princess doll, and a big robot toy all awaiting their tea. But it wasn't the boy's sweet face or his toys that caught Blaine's attention. He leaned in closer for a better, look, pushing on the branch of a lilac bush to support his weight.

A pair of small, perfect wings sprouted from the boy's back, soft and pure white and gleaming in the late spring sunshine. They fluttered a little bit, the feathered edges fragile and delicate, as the boy played quietly.

The branch suddenly snapped under Blaine's weight and he tumbled headlong into the clearing. The boy with the wings jumped back, startled. "What are you doing?" he demanded, snatching up his teapot in one hand and his toy robot under the other arm.

"N-nothing!" Blaine stammered. "I was just, um…"

"This is my backyard," the little boy said haughtily, raising his chin as his wings flapped lightly. "And I don't think I invited you over to play."

"I was at the Rylant kids' birthday party, and I was bored, and I found a hole in the fence, and I just…I was just exploring," Blaine blurted out. "I'm sorry I broke your tree."

"Do you like the Rylants?" the boy questioned.

Blaine shifted his weight. "Not really," he said. "I think they're mean."

"Good, because they are," the boy said, satisfied. He held out his hands. "My name is Kurt. You can play with me instead."

Kurt's hands were soft and warm, his fingers just the tiniest bit grubby after playing in the dirt. "I'm Blaine," he said, staring transfixed as he finally got a good look at Kurt's wings.

Kurt stuck out his lower lip. "You're staring at me!" he said. "If you're going to stare you can go find someone else to play with."

"No, I'm sorry, I just…I've never been this close to a seraph person before," Blaine said. "You're beautiful."

He blurted it out without thinking and he nearly regretted it, but Kurt's cheeks blushed brilliant pink. "Oh," he said, preening a little. "Thank you." He smoothed a lock of hair off his forehead. "We can play on my swingset if you like."

Blaine played with Kurt in the magical secret garden backyard all afternoon. Kurt's swingset was amazing- built by his daddy, he said, and Blaine ooh'd and ah'd as Kurt dragged him all over, showing off each swing and ladder and slide. The lilacs and honeysuckle drifted petals around them in the breeze, scenting the air as they played pirates and pioneers and princes, running and shrieking in the sunshine.

All too soon a sweet voice called for Kurt and the boy paused, tilting his head to the side as his wings gave a fluttery little hitch. "My mama is calling for me," he said. "I think it's dinner time."

"I'd better go back to the party," Blaine said reluctantly. Kurt hopped off the swings, floating for a split second before landing lightly on his toes, and Blaine jumped. "You can fly already?"

"No, not yet," Kurt laughed. "Not till I'm bigger." His wings flitted lightly, batting at the air. "You can touch them if you'd like." Blaine took a hesitant step closer and touched the feathers with one tentative fingertip. Kurt giggled. "That tickles!"

"When'd you get your wings?" Blaine asked.

"When I was three," Kurt said, twisting around to admire the curve of his wings. "They were just little bitty. They didn't start really growing till last year."

The feathers curled lovingly around Blaine's fingers. "I wish I had wings like yours," he said longingly.

"They are pretty wonderful," Kurt said proudly. "And they look just like my mama's."

The same sweet voice called for Kurt again and he took a step back. "You really have to go?" Blaine said.

Kurt nodded. "Maybe we'll see each other again," he said hopefully.

Blaine shrugged and looked down at his shoes. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe."

He felt a tug on his shirt sleeve and he glanced up just in time for Kurt to lean in and kiss him softly on the cheek. "Don't be sad," he chided. "It'll be okay. We'll get to play again." He took a step back, hovering just enough for his bare toes to leave the grass for a second. "Bye, Blaine."

"Bye," he said, edging back toward the fence. He pushed through the honeysuckle, glancing back just once to see a slim pretty lady with strawberry blonde curls and perfect white wings take Kurt by the hand, and he slipped back through the fence to the Rylants' house.

Nobody had noticed he had gone anywhere. A few children were still playing with the Rylant twins in their flowerless backyard, splashing in the slip 'n' slide even though it was getting a little too cool to play in the water. He noticed his mother sitting on the patio beside Mrs. Rylant, and he trotted across the grass to her.

She was still talking when he walked up, and she didn't break in her conversation as he crawled onto her lap. He rested his head on her shoulder, breathing in the homey vanilla smell of her perfume, and closed his eyes as she patted his back and kept talking to Mrs. Rylant about the spring fundraiser for the elementary school.

He must have dozed off, because he woke up in the car, sleepy and disoriented. His father was driving and his mother was chatting happily over the mumbled sounds of talk radio. "I finally talked Lydia into having a silent auction," she was saying. "It'll be such a great way to raise money for the library. And I'm pretty sure she'll make me co-chair this year, especially since-"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," his father interrupted, reaching around to turn up the volume on the radio. Blaine bit back a yawn and wriggled around in his seat.

"…voted today in a final count of seventy-two to one to regulate those with the seraph gene. While there is no cure for seraphim disorder, laws have now been voted in to register and monitor those with the mutation. This includes the Gabriel Act, which now makes it illegal for seraphs to use their wings for the purposes of flying. With the introduction of the act, it may now become more common for those with seraphim disorder to opt for the medical removal of their wings. Future laws may include…"

"See? I told you the Gabriel Act would pass," his father said, slapping the radio console lightly. "It's about time. Do you know it got voted down the first time?"

His mother shook her head. "They make me so nervous," she said. "There's so much damage they could do. It's about time congress did something about it." She shifted in her seat. "I just wish they could cut all their horrible wings off."

"Well, those freak ba-"

"Jack," she whispered, glancing into the backseat. He looked over his shoulder to see Blaine mostly awake.

Blaine blinked as the tense lines around his father's mouth and eyes relaxed. "Hey, sport," Jack said. "You have fun at the birthday party?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm hungry."

Hannah twisted around in her seat to rub his knee. "We'll get some dinner as soon as we get home, okay, sweet pea?" she said.

He nodded and settled back into his seat, closing his eyes. The last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep again was his mother's soft whisper, "I thank God none of our babies turned out like that."

It was a quiet night when they got home. His mother made dinner, he took a bath, he watched a movie with his dad and brother before he went off to bed. He was tucked in and kissed goodnight, and he pressed his cheek to his pillow, waiting to fall asleep.

But that was the night he first felt that strange itching between his shoulderblades.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

And here we have my second Klaine reverse bang fill!

I picked an absolutely lovely watercolor picture of little Blaine and little Kurt playing in a garden full of lilacs, and Kurt has a pair of lovely wings. I've dabbled in wingfic just once before and think the concept is eerily beautiful, and thus this story was born!

Of course, this is the last idyllic scene we'll have for a while...things are not going to go well for Kurt and his mother now that it's basically been made illegal to have wings. And what's going to happen to little Blaine? NOTHING GOOD, I CAN TELL YOU. THIS STORY IS ANGSTY. In face, this story is so angsty that my beloved Margaret loves it. She's a picky picky person, BUT I'VE FINALLY WRITTEN A STORY SHE LOVES.

And for those who were like "but Caitlin! What about Skip a Beat?", don't worry! I'm going to keep posting that as well, alternating updates between the two. I had a lot of fun creating my BigBangs, but between working 4-5 days a week and preparing to move to a new apartment (YAY! AT LAST!) my posting schedule is all over the place!

Oh, but if you want to know where this story is headed, there's a drabble in my Tumbled story about Klaine and wings and such, and that scene is going to come into play later on in this story.

Let me know what you think! Any guesses as to what might happen next?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

"I'm bored," Kurt complained, pressing his nose to the window.

"Please don't whine, Kurt," his mother said quietly. She sat at the far end of the living room, a book open on her lap, but she hadn't turned a page in an hour. "Do you want to watch a movie?"

"I've watched all my movies," he said. He twisted around in his chair to glare at her petulantly. "You promised you'd take me to get ice cream the next time it rained."

"I know, sweetheart, but…" Her voice trailed off. "We can have a tea party if you'd like. Or I can read to you."

Kurt pouted. "We've had tea parties in the garden every day that hasn't been raining," he said. He flung himself across her lap. "I'm sick of the garden and I'm sick of being inside. Why can't I go outside and do things?"

Mollie smoothed his bright hair, and after a moment her fingers wandered to trail over the soft feathery ends of his wings. "Daddy and I just want to keep you close," she said. She bent over him to press a kiss to his cheek. "Here, I have something we can do. We can go bake cupcakes."

Kurt popped up. "And eat them before dinner?" he asked.

She smiled. "Maybe one," she said, setting aside her book and holding out her hand to him. He followed her into the kitchen, already rattling off the kinds of cupcakes he wanted to make. They only made one kind- his mother's favorite, soft warm yellow cake with fluffy chocolate buttercream- and he'd already eaten two before his father came home for dinner that night.

He tried to ask his father during dinner if they could go to the park the next day, and even offered to play catch- he was that desperate to go outside. Burt smiled at him, but he didn't seem very happy.

"Tell you what, kiddo," he said. "I'll take you down the big baseball field at the high school. How about that?" Mollie sat up, her eyes widening, and Burt touched her arm lightly. "But only if we can hide your wings."

Kurt frowned. "Daddy, I don't like tying my wings up," he said. "It hurts. And it gets really itchy."

"I know, buddy, but we need to…cover you up," Burt said. He cupped Kurt's chin in his hand and rubbed the pad of his thumb over a faint chocolate smear on his cheek. "We just want to keep you safe."

"But-" Kurt started to protest.

Mollie stood up. "It's getting late," she said, her lower lip trembling just a little. She pressed her mouth into a tight line and smiled at him. "Come on, sweetheart. Time for bed."

He almost argued with her, but his mother's expression seemed strange, almost unfamiliar. Instead, he just stayed quiet and got ready for bed meekly. She tucked him into bed with a kiss, brushing the feathers of his wings smooth and out of his way, and he settled back against the pillows, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling reflected by his nightlight.

But he couldn't sleep, and he could hear hushed voices from downstairs, and before long he slid out from under his covers and tiptoed to the top the of the stairs. He huddled against the railing, peeking down into the living room.

His mother was pacing back and forth, her gold-and-white wings shaking, and his father sat on the couch, leaning over with his elbows resting on his knees. "We need to move, Burt," Mollie said.

"I told you, we have to wait till the garage is sold," Burt said quietly. "We don't have the money to move yet." He locked his fingers together and exhaled slowly. "I've got a couple of buyers coming by next week. The first reasonable I offer I get, we'll pack up and we'll go."

Kurt pressed his forehead to the railing. He didn't want to move. He liked his house, and his swingset in the garden, and his school. He was supposed to start second grade in the fall, and the last thing he wanted was to go to an entirely new school.

"No, Burt, I want to move now," Mollie begged. "It's not safe. Ohio is pressing for stricter and stricter adherence to the Gabriel Act. They've talked about making it compulsory for people with the seraph gene to go in for removal. Do you know what that means?"

"I know what it means, Mollie.".

She stopped mid-stride, hands clasped at her chest. "I've heard the reports, Burt," she said. "Of the procedure. What they do to you when…" She inhaled deeply. "I would rather die than see them to that to our baby."

Kurt fidgeted. He didn't know what they were talking about, but for some reason it made the pit of his stomach hurt, like he'd suddenly dropped down a hill on a roller coaster. For a moment he thought about sneaking down the stairs to his parents. Maybe that would make the funny feeling go away if he was close enough to them. They wouldn't let him get hurt.

"Fine," Burt said. "Fine, we'll…you and Kurt can go tomorrow morning. I'll take you to the airport and I'll put you two on the first flight to New York City. You can stay up there till I've got the garage sold."

The tenseness in Mollie's shoulders relaxed. "Oh, Burt, thank you," she said. "I know you're not excited about living in the city, but they have the most relaxed approach to the new laws. Things will be easier there. And Kurt will love it there, I know he will."

Burt opened up his arm and she sat down beside him on the couch, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "It's all going to be okay, little girl," he said, kissing her lightly on the forehead. "I'll take care of it."

Kurt slipped down another stair, already full of questions, but before he could ask anything someone banged hard on their front door.

His mother's wings shot straight up, every feather razor-sharp and alert, and Burt stood up, placing his hand in front of her. "It's probably nothing," he said.

"It's eleven o'clock at night," she said through her teeth.

He couldn't see his mother's face, but he could see his father's, and for the first time in his life he didn't recognize the look in his eyes. Then the door broke down, and Kurt took off running for his bedroom.

His father was afraid. And now he was too.

He fled to the safety of his room, diving onto his bed and burrowing into his blankets. His insides felt twisted, like he didn't know whether to cry or throw up. The nightlight looked like a faded star through the cotton of the comforter, but it did nothing to muffle the strange loud voices downstairs.

He strained to listen, his heart pounding in his throat and his wings twitching against the blankets, sending static sparks around him in the dark. "No, you can't!" a higher voice shouted, and he whimpered into his pillow. His mother sounded scared too.

Heavy footsteps pounded on the stairs and he burst into tears, curling up in a tighter ball. Rough hands grabbed him and he screamed, kicking wildly. "Kurt, no, kiddo, it's me," Burt said, scooping him up.

"Daddy!" he wailed, throwing his arms around his neck. "Daddy, I'm scared! What's going on?"

"It's okay, you're just going to go on a trip with Mommy," Burt said, hugging him tightly. Kurt clung to him, his short legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in the flannel collar of his shirt. Burt rubbed his back between his wings. "It's okay. It's all okay."

The lights turned on and someone pulled him away from his father. "Let go of me!" Kurt bellowed, pounding his fists against the steel-hard arm clamped around his waist. His wings were bending all the wrong ways, brushing against the grain of his feathers, and he squirmed against the grip. "Let me go, let me go!"

The stranger hauled him down the stairs, dangling him under his arm, and it didn't matter how much Kurt fought. He reached out, scrabbling for the staircase railing, but his fingers pulled away and he shrieked.

"Thought you claimed your kid wasn't here," his captor grunted as he hoisted Kurt up against his hip. His gun holster ground into Kurt's chest.

"Look, we followed all the rules," Mollie begged. "We registered with the database and everything. Why are you doing this?"

"Mommy, he's hurting me," Kurt said, wriggling in his grip. He stretched out his hands. "Mommy, what're they doing?"

His mother was pale as snow, her hands clenched over her chest. "Kurt, it's okay," she said, her voice shaking. "Please, just put him down, he won't run away. He's just a baby, he can't even fly!"

The arm around him only tightened and Kurt gulped. There were three other men in the living room, all dressed in black with blank faces. "The amendment to the Gabriel Act passed this afternoon," one of them said. "I'm afraid we have to take you and your son into custody."

"No," Mollie whispered. "No, no, no, oh my god…"

"You can't take them," Burt said. "They haven't done anything wrong. Especially my son. He's barely eight years old, he can't even do long division. What the hell do you think arresting a little kid is going to do?"

"I don't wanna be arrested!" Kurt shrieked. "I don't wanna go to jail! Mommy, don't let them take me!"

"Kurt, baby-"

"Mrs. Hummel, you and your son are going to have to come with us."

Burt took a step forward. "Where are you taking them?" he demanded. "If you're going to drag my wife and my kid out of my house in the middle of the night, I at least get to know where you're taking them."

"Sorry, sir, that's classified."

Kurt kicked again, but he was shaking too much to do any damage. His father's face had gone beet red. "You can't take them," Burt said. "You can't-"

"Burt, don't-" Mollie started to plead, but as she lunged towards her husband, one of the men in black caught her by the arm.

"Don't make me have to handcuff you."

Burt took a deep breath. "Mollie, just go with them," he said, his voice so low Kurt could barely hear him.

"But-"

"Don't give them any reason to…" Burt's voice broke. "I'll do everything I can to get you home. Both of you. Just…just take care of Kurt."

Mollie nodded. A tear dripped down her cheek and she rubbed it away with the back of her hand. "I love you," she said, her voice trembling.

Burt tried to smile. "Love you too, little girl," he said.

Kurt wriggled in his captor's grip again. "Daddy, where'm I going?" he begged.

Burt glanced up at the man holding him. "I love you, scooter," he said. "You stay with your mama, okay?"

Something in his father's voice made him swallow down all of his questions. "Okay, Daddy," he whispered.

One of the men dragged his mother towards the front door, and Kurt let out a startled yelp. "Mommy! Your wings!"

His mother's beautiful wings were lashed with thick neon blue straps, binding them flat to her back and sides. She wouldn't be able to fly away.

His captor carried him outside into the dark rain, and instantly his pajamas were pelted with cold fat drops. He squirmed as they struck his wings, and he glanced over his shoulder to see his father standing in the doorway, just a slumped black silhouette against the warm yellow light of home. Kurt whined softly through his teeth.

A plain white van with dark windows was parked on the block, and his mother was pushed inside first. He was tossed in after her, his bare feet slipping on the dirty carpet, and suddenly soft warm arms closed around him. "I'm here, baby, I'm here," Mollie murmured, and he crawled into her lap.

The door slammed and Kurt hid his face in her breast as the van started moving. There were no seats or seatbelts, just a grimy floor and several other silent people pressed against the walls. The van stank of mildew and sweat, and the air was stale and moist. He pressed himself closer to his mother, pulling her long hair around him like a protective curtain, and breathed in the scent of her perfume.

"It's okay," Mollie kept murmuring. Her hand curled around the back of his neck protectively and she rocked him back and forth, holding him as close as she could. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay…"

His mother had never lied to him before. But somehow he knew. He just knew. It wasn't going to be okay.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

AH NO WHY DID I WRITE THIS WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS ANGST?

And it's going to get worse...

Here, have a sneak preview of the next chapter:

_"Mommy! No, no, no, Mommy, I want my mommy, I want my mommy!"_

_She saw a nurse leaning over a woman sitting on the floor in the corner, pulling on the arm of a small boy. The child screamed bloody murder, his free arm locked tightly around his mother's neck. She looked torn and terrified, trying to comfort her son but clearly knowing she had no choice but to hand him over. Without meaning to Carole found herself crossing the room towards them._

_"You'll see your mommy later," the nurse said, grunting with effort as she yanked on the child's arm. He was tougher than he looked, his small fingers clutching at the strap of his mother's sundress, but the nurse was stronger. She pulled him away, the fabric ripping in his fingers, and he let out a hysterical wail as he was torn away from his mother._


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

_Summer camp, _she told herself as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _This will pay for Finn's summer camp._

When her superior at the hospital approached her about taking the shift at the university medical center, she couldn't believe her luck. It was a long shift, an overnighter, but all she would have to do was prep patients for surgery- and in exchange for twelve hours of work and signing a non-disclosure agreement, she could pay two months' worth of rent and finally send her son to the summer camp that he'd been begging to go to for weeks.

She didn't even think twice when she signed her name. But she should have.

There were already patients waiting when she got there, a cluster of pale, tired people in the small waiting room. A typed checklist on a clipboard was thrust into her hands and she called the first name. It was an easy enough rhythm to fall into- call a name, verify the paperwork, prep for surgery, repeat. There were a few others nurses there too, and the system ran like a well-oiled machine.

But every time she went into the waiting room there were more people there, all exhausted and…scared. She didn't know why they were scared, why they huddled together in silence in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, the television switched off and the old magazines gathering dust in their piles. It was unnerving.

Her first hour of the shift had ended when she realized what they all had in common. Every patient…they had the disorder. The seraph gene. Each and every patient had wings sprouting from their shoulderblades.

She'd studied it a bit in nursing school. No known cure, no known cause- other than a mutated chromosome. There was a genetic link, but it was unpredictable. Wings could sprout at any time, from babyhood to early adulthood. Carriers of the gene bore their wings in all sizes and all colors as the most visible mark, but they also had brittle bones and enlarged hearts. Often they died young.

And now, of course, they were illegal.

But she was working, and she was a professional, and so she did her best to pretend she didn't notice. She didn't notice the nylon straps that belted wings against spines. She didn't notice hands shaking in fear when she prepared IVs. She didn't notice the vacant, glassy expressions.

_Finn is going to camp this summer, _she told herself as she led a young man in his mid twenties into a pre-op room. _He gets to go swimming and hiking. He'll go canoeing for the first time. He'll listen to ghost stories and eat s'mores until he gets sick and it'll be the best summer of his life._

"They're taking them off, aren't they?" the young man asked quietly.

She blinked in surprise and looked down. He had brown eyes, like her son's, but he seemed so much older- old and tired and broken. "I…I don't know," she stammered. "I'll just…you're going to feel a little stick…"

He submitted to the IV without a fight and she left quickly, the patient's file still in her hand. She knew she shouldn't look, but as she placed it on the stack of already-processed files she tipped the cover back and she scanned the text.

_Proccedure: Alae disarticulation_

She flipped through the other files piled on the desk. Alae disarticulation. Alae disarticulation. Alae disarticulation. Over and over again.

Every single person was having their wings removed. And she had the feeling that it wasn't voluntary.

She went through the next few patients like she was sleepwalking. Every time she looked into the overcrowded waiting room she felt a stab go through her heart. She was bringing these people in to their own executions.

But she couldn't leave.

It was past midnight when she heard the screaming. The waiting room was impossible at this point; they had long since run out of chairs and people were sitting or lying on the floor. No one seemed to acknowledge each other, though- they stared blankly at the wall or the floor or their hands resting on their knees as their wings flattened against their backs.

"Mommy! No! I want to stay with my mom!"

Carole stopped breathing for a split second. She knew it wasn't her child- it couldn't be, Finn was at the babysitter's, fast asleep- but she couldn't help it, but all she heard was that little voice and she had the sudden terrified urge to check and make sure that her son was far away from this place.

"Mommy! No, no, no, Mommy, I want my mommy, I want my mommy!"

She saw a nurse leaning over a woman sitting on the floor in the corner, pulling on the arm of a small boy. The child screamed bloody murder, his free arm locked tightly around his mother's neck. She looked torn and terrified, trying to comfort her son but clearly knowing she had no choice but to hand him over. Without meaning to Carole found herself crossing the room towards them.

"You'll see your mommy later," the nurse said, grunting with effort as she yanked on the child's arm. He was tougher than he looked, his small fingers clutching at the strap of his mother's sundress, but the nurse was stronger. She pulled him away, the fabric ripping in his fingers, and he let out a hysterical wail as he was torn away from his mother.

Carole's heart thudded in her chest, but she held out her clipboard to the nurse. "I think we got our patients switched," she lied.

The other nurse struggled to hold onto the child as he fought her grip on his wrist, glancing from the clipboard in her hand to the one in Carole's. She held her breath.

"Just take him then," the nurse said, switching the clipboards. She let go of the child and he scrambled back to his mother. He buried his face in her chest, huddling into a tiny ball on her lap, and she wrapped her arms around him, closing her eyes and pressing her cheek to his forehead.

Carole crouched down on the floor, setting the clipboard aside. "Hi," she said quietly.

They both ignored her, the boy sobbing into his mother's shoulder as she rocked him. Carole touched the child's knee lightly. "My name is Carole," she said. "What's yours?"

The little boy kept crying. "Kurt," his mother whispered in a soft sweet voice. She kissed the top of her child's head. "His name is Kurt. He's eight."

"I have a little boy who's eight years old," she said. "His name's Finn."

Kurt peeked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. "Don't take me away from my mom," he said.

"I don't want to, sweetie, but you have to come with me," she said. She held out her hand. "Do you think you could walk back there with me?"

She met the mother's gaze over Kurt's head. The young woman's eyes were bloodshot and wet, but she nodded, pressing a kiss to her son's soft cheek. "Can you go with Carole, baby?" she asked.

"I need you to come with me, Mommy," Kurt said in a raspy voice. "You have to come with me, okay?"

"Baby, I can't," she said. "But I'll be there later. I promise. I'll be there." She kissed his cheek, his temple, his forehead. "I love you, Kurt."

He squirmed on her lap, still trying to hold onto her. "But Mommy…"

She cupped his cheeks in her hand. "Go with Miss Carole, precious, okay?" she begged. She smoothed her thumbs against the curve of his chin and kissed his small mouth. "Say you love me."

"I love you, Mommy," he quavered.

She brushed his hair off his forehead. "Give me a kiss," she said quietly. He obeyed, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and then she lifted him off her lap and gave him a gentle nudge towards Carole. She stood up and took his hand.

Kurt dragged his feet a little, looking back over his shoulder at his mother. "Where are your shoes?" Carole asked.

"The scary guys woke me up and took me away and I didn't have time to get them," he said. He made a face and sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "And the floor's cold."

"Do you want me to carry you?" she asked.

He shook his head. His fingers curled limply in her hand. Carole led him into the small prep room and closed the door, scanning his information on her clipboard. Half the information was left blank, but there it was: alae disarticulation.

She took the printed wristband off the clipboard. "Hold out your arm, sweetie," she said. He obeyed and she wrapped it around his wrist. It was meant for an adult, and she had to wrap it around several times before it would stay put.

She opened a drawer and dug around for the smallest hospital gown she could find. "Put this on," she said, handing it to him.

Kurt hesitated. "My mommy or my daddy has to help me," he said. "Because of my wings."

Carole knelt down and beckoned to him. He turned around, raising his arms a little, and she carefully pulled his tee shirt over his small wings. She had never seen someone his age with wings this developed- usually they didn't reach a sizable span until puberty. Kurt's soft white wings arced out to reach past the crook of his elbows, the silver-edged feathers ruffled along the edge. Carole eased his shirt over his head. The holes cut in the fabric for his wings had been measured to fit perfectly and the edges were neatly hemmed.

She pulled the too-large hospital gown around him, tying the strings below his wings. It swallowed him up, the fabric pooling around his tiny bare feet, and she wanted to cry. "Okay, sweetie, let's get you up," she said. She picked him up and set him on the gurney. "Lie down on your tummy."

He obeyed, scooting around in an attempt to get comfortable. "When am I going to see my mommy?" he said.

"Soon, honey, really soon," she said as she prepped his IV. "Now you're just going to feel a little stick, okay? Stay really still for me."

"I don't like needles," he said, wriggling away. "I want my mommy."

She knew there was nothing she could say to make anything better, so she just kept him still, her fingers cupping his small ones as she prepared to insert the IV in the back of his hand. She half expected him to fight, but he just lay there limply, his face turned away from her, and he whined through his teeth as the needle pierced his skin. A tear dripped down his cheek.

"There we go, baby, good job," she murmured as she wiped the tiny dot of blood away and taped the needle in place. "That's it. That's all there is."

She set up the drip bag, hanging it on the rack, and adjusted the hospital gown over him. He stared blankly at the wall, his blue eyes glazed over. She paused, then tentatively brushed a hand over his hair. All she had to do was close her eyes, and it was like she was checking up on her own little boy in the middle of the night, listening to his steady breathing while he slept.

She knew she should probably move on to the next patient, but she didn't want to leave him just yet. So she waited till he fell asleep, smoothing his hair as his eyelashes slowly drooped. It didn't take too long once the sedative reached his bloodstream and soon he was out like a light, his rosy lips parted.

She bent to kiss his cheek, as if that could offer some kind of protection for him, and picked up her clipboard as she left. She didn't want to leave him there alone, but she had no choice.

The waiting room was still crowded and silent, the occupants huddling in their seats. She checked for the next name. "Mollie?" she called. "Mollie Hummel?"

She scanned the room to see the child's mother struggling to her feet. "That's me," she said, her voice wobbling but her chin held high.

Carole took her by the arm as she came closer. "You're shaking, are you all right?" she asked.

"How's Kurt?" Mollie asked. "Is he okay?"

"He's just fine," Carole reassured her. "I stayed with him until I was sure he was under."

"He hates needles, did he cry?"

"Not a bit," she lied.

Mollie relaxed visibly. She was a young thing, much younger than Carole had thought initially. Her son was her spitting image- fair and lightly freckled with large blue eyes. She glanced surreptitiously down at the paperwork on her clipboard. Mollie was twenty-six, married, mother to one child. They weren't all that different, the two of them. The only real difference was Mollie's genetics.

She led Mollie into the pre-op room, almost hoping that they hadn't taken Kurt yet so his mother could have one last chance to kiss his sweet face, but he was gone. In the harsh light of the pre-op room Mollie looked frail and haggard, with dark bags under her eyes. Her wrinkled cotton sundress hung from one shoulder, the ripped strap dangling, and like her son she was barefoot.

"Let me help you," Carole said quietly, reaching for the plastic buckles on the harness. Mollie nodded but said nothing. The click of the buckles sounded too loud in the quiet, but she could still hear Mollie's exhale of relief as the straps loosened from her shoulders. The heavy nylon straps had left deep red marks in her skin and creases in her soft white wings.

She picked a hospital gown from the drawer and handed it to her. Mollie took off her dress and handed it to Carole, exchanging it for the crinkled hospital-issue smock. Carole took it, then paused. Kurt's clothes were still set aside on the counter.

"Here," she said, handing over the little boy's tee shirt. Mollie paused, then grabbed it hungrily, burying her face in the soft cotton.

"Is he going to be okay?" she whispered.

Carole took a deep breath. "I don't know," she said. "I really don't know."

Mollie nodded, her face still pressed into her son's shirt. She stayed like that for a moment and her shoulders began to shake.

"Oh, honey," Carole whispered. She hugged her tightly, feeling the younger woman tremble under her hands. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I wish there was a way I could help."

Mollie leaned into her shoulder for just a moment, swallowing down a sob, and then she leaned back. "Can you please be there when Kurt wakes up?" she asked, her voice shaking. "He…he'll be so scared when he wakes up. He'll be alone, and scared, and-"

"I'll be there," Carole promised. "Whatever it takes, I'll be there." She smiled, but it hurt a little. "I'd want someone to be there with my little boy, if…"

Her voice trailed off, but Mollie nodded. "What else do I have to do?" she asked, rubbing at her tear-damp cheeks.

"Just the IV, and then you'll be ready," Carole said. Mollie exhaled slowly and nodded.

It didn't take too much longer to get Mollie ready, but again she didn't feel like she could leave until she was certain that the sedative had taken hold. Mollie drifted off with her son's shirt clutched in her hands. She didn't want to take it away from her, but she had to, and she folded it up neatly before placing it beside Mollie's discarded dress.

Her eyes welled up as she left the pre-op room and she took the long way back, swiping at her eyes and trying to steady her breathing and wishing with all her heart that she had said no to the extra hours. Not even the thought of sending Finn to camp could combat the sour taste in her mouth.

She didn't know what possessed her to open the door to the operating theater. But she did anyway.

She pushed the door open and walked into the darkened room. Through the wide window she could see the pale lights from the operating room below and it drew her forward like a magnet.

They were operating on the brown-eyed boy from earlier. She couldn't see his face, but she knew it was him. His left wing was spread out, feathers splayed and limp, but the other…

The other side of his back was a mass of pinned-back skin and exposed red flesh. A surgeon sawed away at the remaining bone, sanding it down so the skin could be patched over it. She could see torn ligaments, snipped tendons, useless muscles.

They were going to do that to Mollie. They were going to do that to her little boy.

Carole backed away from the window, pressing her hand over her mouth, and her stomach turned.

_What have I done? _she thought. _Oh god, what have they done?_

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

UGGGGGGH GOD WHY MUST I WRITE ANGST?

Well, I know, it's because I love it, but sometimes I create the most miserable scenarios.

Special thanks to my wonderful amazing beta Katelyn! She's been my go-to gal to all sorts of medical issues, and she's been fantastic with helping with this made-up medical stuff! And also to Margaret, who's my beta in general and tries to keep me from writing too many cuddles. (Spoilers: I usually write cuddles anyway.)

Also, poor Carole. Now she feels personally responsible for what's happening to them. IT'S OKAY CAROLE IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT.

But ohhhhh, baby Kurt. And Mollie. And in the next chapter, Burt comes to get them.

(Also, Blaine will be coming up in a few chapters! I have his storyline planned, but I want to know- what do you think is going to happen with him?)


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